


Coming home

by Ostodvandi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostodvandi/pseuds/Ostodvandi
Summary: Claude has always been curious about Cyril's memories of Almyra, which awakens a nostalgia Cyril thought to be lost to time.Then, they go back home together.
Relationships: Cyril & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Coming home

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the The Golden Scheme zine! It has been an amazing experience to be part of this zine, and I hope you enjoy the content we all created for it. :)

Cyril closes another bag of his belongings, and with this, it should be enough. There are only two, one containing mostly provisions, since he doesn’t have many material things he would cling to from his life at the monastery. He never had too much, nor needed things, so this should be fine.

He looks in the mirror, assuring that everything is fine with his attire. Claude had told him Almyra was warmer than Fódlan overall, but they’d still need warm clothing for the nights. Cyril lastly looks at his own eyes in the mirror.

He’s grown; everyone has told him as such. With every year, he forgets a little more of the place they’re heading to, that Claude had asked him about once.

“What memories do you have of Almyra, Cyril?”

He had looked so interested in something so unimportant, or at least it seemed so back then. Cyril had never expected Claude to suggest that they return to Almyra. He never thought Claude would want to go back to Almyra.

Even less that he’d end up going back with him.

“The border with the Alliance,” he had replied, straining his memory. “Some… glimpses of my mother, I suppose. Plains.”

That had been enough to get a smile out of Claude, and like so many times, Cyril had wondered what the hell was going through that always busy head. For some reason, the former Alliance leader seemed to have a fixation with Cyril’s opinion of a country whose language he didn’t even know anymore. Claude had even offered to teach him how to speak and write it.

Which Cyril isn’t against, but it still weirded him out. A lot of things about Claude are weird, anyway.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long.” Claude’s voice startles him, and when he turns to look at him, he’s leaning on the doorframe, that easy smile on his face. 

“Sorry. Was getting ready and… got distracted.”

“That’s unusual of you,” he observes, but that grin never disappears from his face. “Did you say goodbye to everyone?”

Cyril nods, picking up the bags containing his belongings.

“Let’s get going, then.”

He follows Claude as they walk out of the bedrooms and around the monastery that has been his home, and in a less intense way, Claude's too. This stroll to the place where their wyverns are stationed is much like how their whole trip will be: him following Claude's leadership into the unknown, into what Cyril isn't sure of.

* * *

Cyril had never cared about politics, unless lady Rhea was involved. So for him, Claude's existence was very much like any other student's: another person he'd see while cleaning up the monastery, and they might talk once or twice if absolutely needed. He had appeared out of nowhere, yes, but that wasn't something that concerned him. Lady Rhea didn't seem to care either, so it wasn't his problem. 

On top of that, Claude was nice. Cyril didn't know why—their shared Almyran heritage was a knowledge that would come a little more than five years later—but Claude looked at him with a strange expectation. Like he was supposed to know something extremely important. But Cyril didn't.

Even now, as they fly together towards Daphnel territory, Cyril looks at Claude's back, and knows there is more to that look than just being born in the same place. Again, it's not his problem, and whatever it is, Claude will only reveal it the moment he wants to. But that won't stop Cyril from being curious and trying to guess as they hover over the ground lazily.

There isn't much time for guessing games, though, as they do arrive at Daphnel sooner than expected. Cyril hops off his wyvern, expecting to just salute Judith politely and hopefully go to sleep in a warm, comfortable bed, but Claude hugs him by the shoulders tightly.

“Let's have a nice dinner first,” he says, and Cyril sighs. Judith makes a cryptic smile at that. “A feast, if you may.”

As long as he doesn't pass out from eating, Cyril thinks.

* * *

But not all nights can be spent warmly curled up in a nice bed, and a couple of them are like this one: Claude and Cyril curled up under Travant’s white wing, around a small fire to keep them warm. Claude lies back on his wyvern, humming a song that sounds vaguely familiar to Cyril’s ears. Around them, the crescent moon reigns over the sky, surrounded by clouds and some stars. It might start raining soon.

“What’s that song?” he finally asks, turning to look at Claude, who seems surprised by the question. However, he smiles widely the second after.

“Oh? It’s a traditional Almyran song.” Claude sits up, closer to Cyril, and stretches before continuing. “I don’t remember the lyrics that well, but the tune is really catchy, isn’t it?”

Subconsciously, Cyril is smiling as well. “Mmh. It is. It sounded… familiar.”

“Maybe you heard me singing it at the monastery at some point.”

“Maybe.” But that is not it. He has heard it before that.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t matter, and Claude keeps talking anyway. “We could make up lyrics for it, until we manage to fall asleep.”

“Huh.” Cyril’s eyebrows arch up. “That might be a good way to pass time.”

Claude starts making up lyrics for the song, and the themes range from wyverns to Lorenz’s posh poetry, making the young man laugh. He follows the rhythm with his foot, wondering where he could’ve heard this before. 

At some point, Cyril grimaces.

“Claude, that was terribly timed.”

“Oh, was it? I’d like to see you doing it better.”

“Maybe I’ll try.”

“Let’s go then. One, two…”

* * *

“There shouldn't be much travel left,” Claude says as his finger traces an invisible line on a map, “until we get to Fódlan’s Locket. From there, we go to…”

Cyril’s eyes follow the gloved finger, as it explores a side of the map he has never seen before. Fódlan’s maps never include what’s beyond the borders, except for maybe Brigid. It had been a thing that usually annoyed Claude, and so he attained a new map, one that included Fódlan and Almyra both. Though he could’ve drawn it himself, for all Cyril knew.

Claude hands him the map, and Cyril holds it, his eyes scrutinizing the names on it. A few of them are vaguely familiar, and he tries to say them out loud. Claude smiles proudly, and Cyril’s face might be slightly flushed. 

“Why the capital, though?”

His grin turns strange, that smile that hides things he doesn’t want to tell just yet. “It’s the best place to start over, isn’t it?”

Start over. Maybe it’s only now that it’s dawning on him. They’re starting over. 

“I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Hilda’s brother guides them through the fortress that is Fódlan’s Locket that Cyril still remembers vaguely. They were there for a mission, but he remembers it from a long time ago too, when he was first brought to house Goneril as a servant. Something is different about it; it looks more open, and the air feels fresher. Cyril’s gaze goes back to Claude, who’s standing next to his retainer (Nader, was his name?) and Holst, talking to the latter. His pose is confident, relaxed, as he speaks looking at them in the eyes. Equals. 

There are some things Cyril admires about Claude, and some things he relates to. Both tried not to care about the rumors spreading around them at the academy and later during the war, and Cyril remembers Claude’s ability to lead being questioned more than once or twice by so many people.

Yet, here they are. All is done. Claude convinced him. They’re going back home. 

Home. How strange, it’s been more than a decade since he thought of Almyra like that. It’s probably the product of Claude’s influence, of his endless talks about Almyra, of his Almyran lessons, that makes it feel closer than it’s ever been. 

“Cyril?” Claude calls him, his conversation with Holst done. The sun rises behind him, but Cyril can see his resolute smile. “Let’s go.”

He looks back one last time at Fódlan, and steps on Almyran territory, just as the wind picks up and Claude’s white wyvern rises.


End file.
